


If You Don't Know How To Swim

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mermaids, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mer!Courf, Mer!Ferre, Mer!Jolras, Mermaids, Multi, Other, What do I gotta tag to tell you it's mermaids, mermaid au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 18:33:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1149396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But don't go swimming with a mermaid, son, if you don't know how to swim. </p><p>Grantaire lives in a shitty town, in a shitty country with a shitty climate. The only good things about the shitty town are the not-so-shitty beach, and the lone almost-shitty club at the centre of town. One day, well, night, he meets someone that will change his life forever. Maybe. </p><p>Fuckin' mermaids and shit, bro. Who knew?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Date

**Author's Note:**

> I can't apologise enough. If anything seems off, tell me and I will change it. This is still a WIP. And I think it will be long after the story has finished.
> 
> Hit me up on tumblr; incompleteicarus. Or, post something in the in tag; fic: iydkhts

The young man sat on the rocky beach, a large pebble that was still too small to be called a rock in hand. He hefted it's weight, passing it from one hand to the other, and back again. The waves lapped at the slightly sandy space between his feet, the salt would stain the tips of his Doctor Martins one day, but until that day he was happy to let the water caress his paint stained boots. 

A soft, cold wind whipped his curled hair away from his face, and he winced as a stray strand tugged at one of his numerous piercings. He dropped the stone in his lap, the weight comforting. The snake bites in his lip tasted like salt and sand as he gnawed on his lip, letting his fingers untangle the black thread from his silver ear piercings. The wind brushed him again, this time digging it's cold fingers into the space between his faded band shirt and thick leather jacket. 

The sea had turned grey at some point during that day; at a time he hadn't seen, and probably wasn't awake for. He thought about the camera he had in the bag next to him, and decided that he might as well take a few photographs while he could. Running the shop had often fallen to Jehan, but producing the art was still Grantaire's job. 

He staggered to his feet, slipping the rounded pebble into the back pocket of his jeans. The pocket without the hole in it, of course. The canvas messenger bag was slung over his shoulder, and he fished the expensive camera from it. It had been a birthday gift, nearly a thousand euros on this precious piece of artistic equipment. He flipped the lens cap off and shoved it into a jacket pocket, brought the camera to his eye and changed the settings with a flick of his thumb. 

There was a soft breeze whipping his jacket, but he ignored it. The camera was focused on a rock not far out in the harbour he lived by. It was coated with something he'd call moss, but he had been told repeatedly that it was actually algae. The thick green brown coating of the rock only reached a little way higher than the water did now. It was almost high tide, and the water had risen high enough to hide most of the gross commercial junk that had been discarded on the beach that day. 

Distracted by this train of thought, Grantaire checked his watch. It was 1:34, at night. No doubt Jehan had found another body to keep him warm tonight, Grantaire had no intention of going back just yet. He turned his attention back to the water and waited. 

The clouds in the sky moved quickly, or maybe it was just time that moved fast for the artist. The moonlight bounced from the water, the slick coating of the rock and the silver rings on the man's face. He took two quick shots in a row, documenting the dappled moonlight on the moving water. They were beautiful, he knew that much, but that's not what he wanted to see in his own art. He grimace crossed his face as he thought about it. 

He held the camera tight in one hand and kicked his shoes off. The pebbles under his feet were hard and hurt his feet. Using his other hand, the photographer pulled off his socks. There were holes worn into the toes and heels, but he didn't care. He shrugged the bag from his shoulders, and then the coat too. He rolled the jeans he wore up to half way up his calves, and began to walk. The camera in hand allowed him to think that he was a great wildlife photographer, stalking his intended photographic prey. He smirked, and braced himself as his feet sunk into the cold water. 

"Shitshitshit." He muttered to himself as he walked, swearing constantly. His feet brushed against something slimy and his winced. Gross _fucking_ seaweed. 

The water began to climb over him, stroking the dark hairs on his legs and making him so incredibly cold. He shivered violently. The camera in his hand nearly slipped from his grasp, but he clutched it tight to his chest and walked deeper. 

Further out, closer to the rock than to the shoreline that Grantaire was slowly retreating from, there was a disturbance in the water. A quiet movement in the waves, and that was all. Grantaire didn't notice it, he didn't register the thought that maybe there could be something in the water that wasn't just him. His whole mind was focused solely on the photographs of the rock under the bright moonlit sky, and the numbing coldness of the water. 

The man waded further, feeling the waves hit the bottom of the turn ups of his jeans. He stopped, letting the sea settle around him. There was a minute of silence before he sighed. Grantaire slipped the camera around his neck, the long strap that he hardly ever used felt strange and uncomfortable. He bent forwards slightly and yanked the turn ups of his jeans a little higher. Both sides complied, and he returned to wading into the water. 

The next time he stopped, he was nearly knee deep in the water and he was satisfied with being this far out. The water's chill was seeping into his bones now, but it didn't matter at all. He raised the camera to his eye and took a blast of photos. The shadow of the rock black against the nearly full moon, the waves with the moonlight bouncing from them and the algae barely visible. 

It was only then did something grab his ankle. 

Grantaire looked down. There was a pale hand wrapped around his leg. He thought he saw veils between each finger, but that may just have been the distortion of the water. He froze. The hand clenched, digging sharp nails into his leg. He let out a cry, pain and surprise shot through the numbness of his lower body. 

His eyes travelled along the arm attached to the hand attached to his leg. He followed the almost translucent white shape to his right. The being was a blonde, great streams of hair floating like seaweed in the water. Grantaire swallowed. 

Although this felt like an absolute lifetime, it had been less than two seconds since the hand had wrapped itself around Grantaire's leg. The hand pulled, and Grantaire fell backwards. His hands held his camera up, out of the water, but something caught him before his head went under the waves. 

A hand was wrapped around his camera, finely webbed between each finger, and a solid arm underneath him stopped him from falling any further. He almost relaxed, almost. The thing was breathing beside him, he could feel it's chest moving in time with his own. Deep breaths, probably not from the same fear and shock that Grantaire was feeling. 

"Human." The voice was soft, barely a whisper. It was deep, and rumbled in the speaker's chest. Grantaire opened his eyes, and found himself looking right at the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. 

It looked neither male nor female, but it had some unearthly beauty. 

The creature had bright eyes, the colour of the sea on a summer morning, that were almost too large for its face, a slim nose that flared as it breathed and full pink lips. The bottom lip was a slight bit too full for the upper, but the shade of them was the same pink as the inside of a small shell that had washed up on the beach after a storm. 

It's hair was wet, but not lank. It hung heavily down the creatures back. It's ears were almost elf-like, but webbed too. Like it's hands. It's chest was bare and flat, not a trace of gender lay upon the smooth skin there. It was, from the water upwards, about as tall as his own body from above the waist. But it was much thinner, lithe muscle replacing his own bulk. It was pale, the veins and arteries beneath the skin almost allowed Grantaire to trace every drop of blood around its body back to it's heart. 

Grantaire stared. 

He didn't mean to, not really. But he couldn't take his eyes from the creature's beauty. The water soaked into his clothes and he could feel himself growing numb, but he was transfixed with the creature's beauty. 

"What is this?" The creature asked, lifting the camera. 

"Its a camera." Grantaire said, his voice barely more than a just whisper. "Please, don't let it touch the water." 

The creature looked at it, then him, then it again. The silence grew too much for Grantaire. 

"What's your name?" He asked. 

The creature frowned, "Why do you want to know?" He pushed the artist up, out of the waves. 

"I... I want to know what to call you." Grantaire admitted, staggering to his feet. He was glad his pockets were empty, except from the pebble he'd picked up from the shore. His trousers were soaked, his boxers too. 

The creature said, "Enjolras." 

"I'm Grantaire." The human replied, offering his hand. The creature reached up and took it. It seemed unsure what to do next, so Grantaire shook for them both. 

The creature heaved itself out of the water a little more. Grantaire watched it move. The grace with which it moved made him jealous; with years as a dancer, a swordsman and a fighter, even Grantaire could not move like the creature. His eyes lingered on its arms and the space he could only label as it's hips. 

It's arms were just like a human's, except from the webbing on its hands, the sharp nails and the fins that were attached to its elbows. They were the same blue green as the webbing between its fingers, but slightly more substantial. At it's hips the creature's skin began to change from a near human skin, to a slightly more aquatic scaled texture. Although, even the slightly more human half of its skin felt like it was delicate scales. The scales at the hips faded into the water before Grantaire could discern what colour they were. "What are you?"

"I am Mer." The creature replied, licking it's lips with a tongue that looked nothing like anything Grantaire knew, "And you have the stench of humanity on you."

"Yeah. If that's your way of saying I'm human, then yeah. But if you're trying to say I've got any humanity in me..." There was a bitter laugh from the human. It made the Mer incredibly sad, for reasons it could not fathom. 

"Why are you here?" The Mer asked, curious about the human. 

Grantaire held up his camera - untouched by the salt water, thank God - and said, "I was taking photos." 

The Mer furrowed its brows, "Photos?" 

"Photographs. They're like, ways to keep an image permanently." Grantaire tried to explain, but found himself coming up short on words. "They're really important, to me. Sometimes I sell them, pass them on in exchange for things. They're art. Sometimes they get really famous, and lots of people see them..." He dropped the sentence and waited for the Mer's reply. 

There wasn't one. The creature just sank below the waves, it's eyes fixed on the human. There was no rippling, no distortion of the water, nothing to show that the creature had ever been there. 

"Hey!" Grantaire called, trying to find the creature again. He couldn't see it underneath the waves. He moved forwards, not caring that the sea was brushing his mid thigh now. "Enjolras!" 

There was a silence, in which even the sea seemed to pause. Grantaire found himself holding a breath and hoping with all that he had that the strange, incredible creature would come back to him. 

It did; with a silent parting of the waves and a tight hand around his throat. The Mer's eyes were sharp, dark and full of anger. "Don't use my name like that, human. Names hold more power than you know. I should have killed you when I had the chance, no human should know of us Mer. I won't make that mistake again, I will kill you before you have the chance to tell anyone about us."

"So-" Grantaire tried to choke out an apology, but was cut short by the tight grasp around his neck getting even tighter. He shook his head. He was going to die, right here, killed by this creature. He couldn't...

_...couldn't feel, couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The world was going black around the edges if his vision, the darkness was getting closer..._

Grantaire did the only thing he knew how to; raised his camera and took a photo. A loud click. The hand from his throat was gone, as was the creature. Again. 

Grantaire stumbled back to shore and sank to his knees, choking, coughing and spitting. The air poured back into his lungs as he knelt in front of his belongings, back to the sea. The camera in his grasp shook as the cold air blasted all the heat from his body. He, with numbed fingers, jabbed the buttons on the side of the display screen and found his gallery. 

The last photo taken was of a blonde creature, with webbed ears and a vicious snarl on it's face. It looked ready to kill, it's lips drawn back to reveal sharp teeth that wolves could only dream of. This creature, Grantaire realised, was built to hunt and kill. It had the speed and agility to move silently underwater, the nails and teeth to rip a man's throat out, the strength to pull them under and keep them there... Even then, the artist thought the Mer was beautiful. 

He put the camera back in his bag, shook off the leather coat and wrapped himself in it tightly. The cold air made him shiver, violent contractions of his muscles to keep his core temperature up. He shoved his feet clumsily into his boots, ignoring the sand grains that found their way into them and shoved the socks into his jacket pocket. The bag was swung onto his shoulders again and he marched from the sea, never once looking back. 

Even if he had, it was unlikely that Grantaire would have seen the pair of sea blue eyes that watched him from the water.


	2. Breakfast At

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jehan, lesbians and art.

The artist stumbled back into his flat above his shop that he shared with his best friend and occasional lover, the cold air having bitten him through the layers of thick wet clothes he wore. His eyes were stinging with the cold wind, and his balls were practically inside him. He ripped off his clothes in the hallway, nudging the door shut with his foot. 

The shirt clung to him, as did his boxers. He moved through the house to the bathroom and slammed on the shower, turning it up to the full heat. The piss of satan greeted him as he dived into the steaming jet. He almost cried out, if he could have felt anything other than the freezing cold and the pain that brought with it he would have. 

He heard someone leave Jehan's room, and then someone else too. There was a brief, muttered discussion in the hall, and the bathroom door opened. Jehan popped his head around it, taking one look at Grantaire and sighing. 

"F-fell in." Grantaire lied as his body was rocked with shivers, "G-go back to b-bed, I'll be f-fine."

Jehan nodded. "Ok, but if you... If you need anything..." 

Grantaire nodded. He stood under the jet of Satan's piss for a few more minutes, before lowering the temperature when feeling began to return to his body. He ran his hands over the coldest parts of his body, rubbing some life into them. He washed himself of the saltwater and let the soap spiral down the drain, the great bubbles disappearing as they burst. 

He climbed out of the shower, shutting it off with a fumbling hand as he reached for a towel to wrap around himself. The towel he found was scratchy, but he used it anyway. The material softened at the touch of the water, but it was still not a great thing to have against his skin. 

Grantaire padded out of the bathroom, expecting to have to pick up all his clothes. Instead, he found the hall empty of his things and the door to his bedroom open. He walked in, found a pile of wet things by his bed, and his bag and jacket slung on the rickety chair in the corner of his room. He'd have to thank Jehan for that in the morning. 

The wet things went into the laundry basket without a second glance, and he dried himself off with the towel. The warmth of the apartment was comforting now, and the roughness of the towel on his skin was all that kept him awake. He shook his head, letting his semi dried hair spring back into its natural curls. 

The towel went into the basket too, thrown from the other side of the room. Grantaire climbed into bed naked and wrapped the covers around him, allowing the cold sheets to warm up around him. He lay in the darkness thinking for a while, just letting thoughts and memories blur into one another. 

The creature was the single most beautiful thing he had ever seen. And it wanted to kill him. It's name was Enjolras, and Enjolras was a Mer. Mer meant nothing to Grantaire, but he would ask Jehan in the morning. After thanking him, of course. 

Grantaire's eyes slipped shut and he dreamed; of Enjolras, of Mer, of fish, of men, of algae covered rocks, and of the moon watching it all. He didn't move a muscle as his dreams sped the night past.

\--

The sun rose well before the man did. It was about midmorning when Grantaire slipped out from under his covers, skin too hot and eyes itching with sleep. He shoved a pair of boxers on, a ratty pair of superhero ones, and pulled another one of his faded band shirts over his head. He lifted his leg and scratched at his ankle, something there was sharp and rough at the same time. He couldn't quite see it in the darkness of his room, so he ignored it. 

Grantaire wandered out of his room, a pair of artistically ripped jeans in hand, and went looking for Jehan. He leaned against the wall to shove his legs into the jeans, and then arched his back against the cold plaster to pull them up to his waist. Admittedly, Grantaire was not the most elegant dresser, and he generally wasn't dressed well either, but what did that matter when the only person he socialised with was the poet that he lived with? 

Jehan was downstairs, in the shop. Grantaire padded down barefoot and found him talking to a young couple. The young girls were aching to hold hands, but had maintained a respectful distance in the shop. Grantaire didn't like it. 

"Jean, babe," he smiled, walking over to the counter that the poet was leaning on, "don't bore them." 

He wrapped his arms around the poet's waist, rested his chin on the boy's shoulder and winked at the younger of the two girls. They smiled, both girls, and Jehan rolled his eyes with an audible sigh. "This is R, he does a lot of the art here." 

"Oh," the younger of the two girls, a petite blonde, gestured to a canvas Grantaire had painted about a week and a half ago, "this is amazing. We were thinking about taking it for my- our bedroom." 

Grantaire tilted his head and looked at the canvas. It was the harbour at low tide in the rain. Dark, rather depressing actually. "Sure you want that one?" 

"It's so pretty." The other said, her fingers now interlocked with the blonde's. Grantaire shook his head, pulled his arms back and stood up. He darted into the back room - not that he came down here often, too many rooms in this place, honestly - and searched. 

When he came back, which was about five minutes later, Jehan had the blonde girl reading a scrap of paper. Grantaire guessed it was a poem, or some short story, or something to do with the words Jehan could never stop from pouring from his lips and fingertips. The dark haired girl, who'd dyed streaks of green, or blue maybe, into her hair, watched as Grantaire lugged a canvas towards them.

It was a little bit bigger than the original canvas, but the painting on it made it worth it indeed. The painting was almost the same; it was the same harbour, and the water was still at low tide, but there were differences like the lack of rain pouring from the dark sky, and the couple that lounged on the pebbly sand in front of the sea, arms locked around one another and faces turned to the sky. 

"M'sorry if you don't like it, I just thought something like this would be better for a bedroom..." He glanced at Jehan, who nodded slightly with a smile on his lips. 

The blonde girl looked at it, and gasped. She knelt down to look at it, fingers hovering inches from the paint. Her partner was watching it too, negotiations already on her lips. 

"Three fifty is what I'd usually ask for this," Grantaire admitted, "but since it's my choice to show you this, two eighty. Same as the other one." 

The blonde glanced up at her girlfriend, who smiled in turn at Grantaire, "No, we'll pay three fifty." 

Jehan took over then, packaging the canvas and asking the girls how they'd like it delivered. They refused the delivery, insisting they only lived up the road. The dark haired girl scrawled a phone number on a piece of paper and insisted that Grantaire call them if he had any more art like that "simply amazing" piece. 

He didn't realise it, but a warm flush had spread to his cheeks as the girl complimented him. Jehan kept glancing at him, finding the flustered artist an adorable, and rare, sight. 

The poet had his hair pulled back into a loose bun, he wore a baggy vest with some hand scrawled poetry from someone that was meant to be famous, the tightest skinny jeans that Grantaire had ever seen and plastic and fabric band bracelets up and down his scarred arms. His face was slightly more feminine than Jehan would have liked, but that didn't really matter. 

Grantaire watched the girls walk away, canvas in the dark haired girl's arms. He realised he didn't even know their names, and it made his chest heavy in a way he couldn't label. He shrugged the feeling off and turned to Jehan, who was putting the receipts and his scraps of poetry away. 

"So, about last night..."

"You came in soaked," the poet nodded, "at three in the morning." 

"Sorry about that." He grimaced, not quite sure how to apologise properly. "You, and uh... Who did you have over? Doesn't matter. Um, sorry." 

"Leave it." Jehan smiled. "It's breakfast time anyway. We'll shut for an hour, go out and get something to eat." He looked up at Grantaire and beamed, and Grantaire found himself smiling back. 

The boys shoved their shoes on, wrapped themselves in their worn jackets - leather for Grantaire, denim for Jehan - and left for the beach front cafés. Grantaire found himself looking at the sea a lot more often than he would have liked; although he wasn't sure if he was looking with longing or fear. 

If Jehan noticed this, he said nothing. He ordered two large breakfasts, even though it was actually past the time the cafe stopped serving them. Jehan had a way with people, one Grantaire envied. He sprawled himself out on a booth chair, his legs far too long for his body. Grantaire enjoyed Jehan's presence. His long limbs made him rather Bambi-like, which was ridiculously cute sometimes. 

"Get any good photos last night?" Jehan asked as he dug his nails into the faux leather of the seat, smirking to himself as it strained. Grantaire watched the poet. He had tiny gauges, a small scar poked out from his hairline down his neck and he had a faint layer of patchy stubble over his slightly feminine jaw. 

"A few." He shrugged, "they're not great... But," he paused, "I do have an idea for a set of canvases." 

"Oh?" Jehan sat up, a lopsided grin on his lips. He was ridiculously attractive, and Grantaire was torn between wanting to punch him and kiss him. It was a stable in their relationship; both boys were attracted to the other, and jealous of each other. 

Grantaire's head dipped in what was almost a nod, but not quite. He drummed his fingers on the wooden table between them for a while. The sound filled the silence between them. "Jehan, do you know about Mer?" 

"Mer?" Jehan raised an eyebrow. "Like, the fish people?" 

Grantaire nodded. 

"Uh, yeah sure. They're like, half human and half fish. They have tails and everything. Try to drown sailors..." He made a face. "If you believe that stuff anyway." 

Grantaire found Jehan's selective beliefs incredible. He believed in a lot of things that Grantaire found strange; karma and feng shui were just the start of those. But he didn't believe in any mythical creatures. Grantaire shrugged it off, he didn't need to believe in the Mer, he knew they were real. One had attacked him last night. 

"Mer? Is that what you're thinking about for your canvases?" Jehan asked. He didn't doubt Grantaire's artistic choices, just made sure the artist was fully dedicated to each set. Having half a finished set of anything was irritating, but they could always be shifted eventually. 

Grantaire shrugged. "I'll sketch one when we get back..." 

Jehan nodded. And luckily for them both, the breakfasts arrived steaming hot and ridiculously big. Both boys dug in, burning their lips and tongues and complaining through mouthfuls of food. 

\--

Grantaire was bent over the desk in his room, nose nearly pressed to the paper he was drawing on. His tongue slipped across his lips as he focused, trying to capture every detail of the Mer's face - of Enjolras' face. He focused, trying to remember if Enjolras' hair curled inwards or outwards, or did it just wave? 

Jehan had left out an array of sodas for him, but Grantaire took to drinking directly from the JD bottle in his desk drawers. He leaned back in his chair and looked over the four sketches he'd done. The paper was covered in smudges, but that didn't matter. The art was perfect, exactly what he wanted to draw. But... There was something incredibly off about it. 

He checked his watch, and did a double take. He'd sat down at 11:55, and it was now 9:27. A sigh escaped him, and then a bubble of bitter laughter. The paper was folded beneath his fingers and slipped into his back pocket. He'd show it to Jehan tomorrow, once he'd worked out the kinks. Grantaire stood up; for a second the world span, and then righted itself. 

Grantaire needed to go to the beach. He felt the urge to go again, a pulling in his gut. Maybe that was the whiskey burning it's way through his system, it didn't matter. He was going to go. With a quick glance around his room, he pocketed his keys and his phone. 

The artist danced down the stairs, a song he couldn't remember the name of playing in his head. The journey to the beach wasn't that long, and he was there before the end of the third nameless song. The moon was out again tonight, still wrapped in the shroud of the wispy clouds though. The waves made dull mirrors, and reflected only the light of the moon when the clouds were good enough to part. 

Grantaire loved the sound of the rocks crunching underfoot. He turned left and walked away from the town, towards the slightly wilder areas of the harbour. There were great big rock pools if you walked far enough, and Grantaire wanted to see them under the gaze of the moon. 

He shoved his hands into his pockets and walked with a strange spring in his step, one he couldn't really explain. The rock pools were set back in old rock formations, ones low enough for high tide to swamp but high enough for him to be able to walk now. His lips curled upwards as he thought about the blonde Mer. 

After about fifteen minutes of walking around the curve of the crescent shaped beach, Grantaire began to walk upon more and more slabs of rock until they made a natural paving. They were wet and he could slip easily, but he slowed down and balanced with each step. The rock pools were just ahead.

\--

"Human." 

Grantaire looked up, his head snapped up actually. The voice came from the water that lead up to the rock pools. The Mer was in the water, resting gently against one of the many jutting shelves of rock. It didn't look scary, but Grantaire remembered the feeling of its strong hands around his throat, and this time he didn't have a camera with him. 

"Enjolras." Grantaire muttered, feeling his throat constrict as he spoke. How was he meant to talk to a being that he had nearly been killed by at some ridiculous time last night, and then spent all day thinking about? 

The Mer's eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight, it's hair was like the waves that stroked the rocks it leaned on. Grantaire blinked at it, and it blinked back. The artist noticed with a start that the Mer's eyelids slid shut sideways. 

"We need to talk." The Mer's rich voice warped Grantaire's mind and left him nodding, taking careful steps towards the creature. He stopped just outside of the Mer's reach and sat on a hard, wet rock. He felt the cold seep into his jeans, but it didn't matter. 

"Comfortable?" The Mer asked, a serious expression plastered on his face.

Grantaire nodded. Enjolras lifted himself onto the flat rock it was leaning against, it's scales shone black under the moonlight. Grantaire watched the muscles move under the skin, transfixed by its beauty. 

"Good." Enjolras splayed it's fingers out on the rock, frowning slightly. It's soft, downy eyebrow were drawn together with a small wrinkle on its brow. "I... I should kill you.

Grantaire swallowed, and then nodded again. He couldn't find his voice, but his eyes didn't leave the Mer's face. 

"I don't want to kill you. But you know my name. And what I am." 

"Enjolras." The word slipped from Grantaire's lips. He didn't recognise the voice as his own. His hand dipped into his back pocket - the one without the hole - and pulled a scrap of paper from it. The smudged pencil lines looked pathetic as his outstretched fingers offered it to the Mer. 

Enjolras reached for it too, and their fingers brushed. Grantaire felt the touch of pleasantly cool, damp skin and Enjolras felt the fiery touch of a body working overtime on emotions. The sheet was unfolded in the Mer's hands. 

The first picture was of a hand around a man's ankle, delicate and webbed. The second was a silhouette of a body half submerged in waves, against the backdrop of the moon. The third was the tight snarl on the face of the Mer, its lips drawn back and sharp teeth bared like weapons. The fourth, the final one, was a sketch of the Mer's face; sharp teeth bared in a grin, nostrils flared with laughter and a mischievous glint in its eye. 

Sort of. The last picture was the one that had frustrated Grantaire for most of the day, so there were layers upon layers of lines that had been removed with a rubber, and drawn over at a slightly different angle. 

"This is yours?" Enjolras blinked, eyelids sliding in towards its nose and back out. 

Grantaire nodded, now regretting even coming to the rock pools. His head swam with worry and the remnants of the booze in his system. He swallowed with a dry mouth, eyes avoiding the Mer's face. 

"I think this is amazing." Enjolras admitted, offering the scrap of paper back. "But, you're not even meant to know we - I exist." 

"We?" Grantaire's head tilted up. "There's more of you, of course." 

Enjolras sighed, rubbed the bridge of it's nose and groaned in the back of its throat. "Of course I'm not the only one. There are literally thousands of us." 

Grantaire nodded. "Right. Do... Are... How does that work?" 

Enjolras huffed a breath out of his lungs and started, "We live leagues out, in the deepest parts of the ocean. We can breathe air and water, and we have been around since before your species. You evolved from us." 

"Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. Of course. We, humanity, totally evolved from a species that lives in the deepest, darkest depths of the ocean who kill anyone that discovers they exist." There was poison dripping from each word out of Grantaire's mouth, but he couldn't stop himself from talking. "Why didn't we realise that before? It's so simple!" 

"Shut up!" The Mer's voice was raised, it's eyes glaring at the the boy sat on the rock. "Listen to me." 

Grantaire said nothing. 

"Humanity shouldn't know of us, because they would hunt and kill us. We've seen what your people do. They kill our sharks, whales, hunt our fish to extinction... Humans are cruel, so we don't let them know of us. We hide when they come. We run from you." Enjolras paused, "Never in the history of my people has anyone allowed a human to live once they had been seen."

Grantaire opened his mouth, stopped, rested his chin on his hand and let Enjolras carry on. 

"I'm meant to kill you, that's the law... You saw me, you know my name." 

The artist grumbled, "That's your fault, genius." He gnawed on his lip, the snakebites cold against the insides of his mouth. "But, if every human that has ever seen a Mer has been killed, why do we have myths about you?"

Enjolras blinked. It seemed to be a nervous tick, a giveaway of its mental state. Grantaire, oblivious, kept talking. 

"How come the myths we have are all about incredibly hot, female Mer who want to drown sailors and steal gold and stuff... And they're always brushing their hair. You don't look like you've ever brushed your hair, no offence, and you also don't look like a girl, again no offence. But you don't look like a boy either. I can see why people might think you were a girl from far away, but you wouldn't be able to tell if you were pretty or not?" He paused, looked at the Mer and froze. "Did I say something?" 

"You said a lot of things," Enjolras' mouth twitched, "but the important thing you said was that humans have stories of Mer." 

"Yeah." The artist shrugged. "Of course we do." 

"Female Mer?" 

"Cute ladies brushing their hair and dragging sailors down to the depths, yeah." Grantaire nodded. "We have those." 

"There are no female Mer." Enjolras muttered, more to himself than to Grantaire. The artist heard this anyway, and responded with an extremely dignified, "What?" 

"We have no male or female." Enjolras said, slightly louder. "Mer have no sex. We all have the ability to impregnate, and to become pregnant. Sex is of little importance to us." 

Grantaire just started at the blonde, completely unsure how to take the knowledge of the Mer's sexual organs in. He breathed in through his mouth and out through his nose heavily a few times before nodding. "Well, I didn't need to know that but... Sure. That makes sense."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anything's off with this, feel free to come and bug me directly on tumblr (http://incompleteicarus.tumblr.com) and yeah. I'm sorry? 
> 
> I'll try to update this weekly I guess.


	3. Club Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire gets drunk and someone he doesn't know knows him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure you've read all of chapter 2 before reading this. That's my fault though, I added in half a chapter to the end of C2 to make this chapter flow. 
> 
> Anyway, I've nearly finished chapter 4 so you'll get that before the end of the week. 
> 
> Enjoy.

"Do you have to kill me?" 

The words hung in the air after they were spoken, quiet and calmly muttered, but they took all the warmth from the air and the breath from their lungs. The blonde didn't reply, but the artist hasn't expected him to. 

"Ok well, I have to go..." He stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his jeans and stretching. A flash of slightly fuzzy belly showed as his shirt pulled up. The Mer had said nothing since explaining the functions of its sexual organs, and Grantaire was sort of bored. "So, you have my phone number if you need me." 

"I don't."

"It was a joke. I was- nevermind." Grantaire sighed. "Do you want my phone number?"

Enjolras glanced up at him. "It would be useful." The Mer smiled, and suddenly Grantaire realised what was wrong with the sketch. The Mer's teeth weren't filed down to sharp points like he'd drawn, instead it was more like it had a mouth full of incisors. Grantaire nearly kicked himself when he saw the gap between Enjolras' front teeth. 

"Sure, if you want it..." He began, before realising just who this creature was. This was the thing that had nearly killed him, the thing that had choked him and tried to drown him. The thing that had kept his camera out of the water, and had only attacked him when it felt threatened. 

"Somehow," Enjolras waved, "I'll manage without it." 

He pushed himself off of the flat rock and sunk back into the sea. The waves were pulling themselves up the rock face now, high tide approaching. The Mer didn't look back as he sank under the water, and the artist didn't mind. 

Grantaire considered going back to his bed, curling up in the sheets and sleeping, but his guts clenched around the idea of going to the Mussain and finding a body to keep him company instead. The idea of having someone's arms wrapped around him made his insides into jelly and he definitely decided on that course of action. 

He wandered through the streets that lit by the restaurant fronts that opened onto the sea, even though the doors were closed right now due to the cold air. The smell of food reached him and his stomach groaned deep within him, which lead to Grantaire buying a large box of French fries and chicken from the chicken shop just down the road from the Mussain. Admittedly, Grantaire preferred the thickly battered cod from one of the stores back towards the beach, but he wasn't going to walk that way and then back again just for food. 

Grantaire stood outside the bar, the bouncer recognised him and smiled. He leaned up against the wall beside the big guy and they talked a little. The man spoke about how fucking cold everything was, and how his boyfriend was working three jobs in order to put himself through university, and how much he wished he could help. Grantaire nodded, offered him some chips and asked if Jehan had been in last night. The bouncer said he had, and Grantaire restrained from asking if he'd left with anyone. He just thanked the man, offered him the last chicken leg and threw the box in the trash. 

Inside the Mussain was very different from the outside. A worn wartime building, which had once been a warehouse or something of the sort, had been refitted with a trendy interior. About ten years ago. There were a mass of chairs and tables to one side of the room, and a low stage and an open dance area to the other. The gigs held here, Grantaire admitted, were some of the best in the world. The bar was scarred and marked, hidden away at the far side of the room with a bored girl behind it. Grantaire made a beeline straight for it. 

"Ponine!" He grinned at her, fishing a note from his pocket. "When do you get off?" 

The young girl beamed at him, just once, and then returned to her regular facial expression of 'why the fuck am I even here'. "Half an hour." She answered, pulling the lever down above a glass that filled with some murky liquid Grantaire was quite sure wasn't actually alcoholic. She slid the glass over the counter to a young man with dyed hair and took the change from him. 

"Aright, I'll have the usual and you can get yourself something when you get off." He grinned, slipping the note into her hand. Grantaire really adored Éponine, they'd grown up in this shitty little place and while all their friends had decided to go off and grow up, they'd been stuck here with family and responsibilities. Or in Grantaire's case, lack of them. 

The dark haired girl pulled half a pint into a glass and then poured half a bottle of something else in it. She handed the drink to him, their fingers getting tangled as they did so. Grantaire laughed, placed the drink down and let Éponine retrieve her fingers. She shoved the note into her pocket, and watched him walk away. 

On the side of the club that had the tables crammed into it like they were going out of fashion, Grantaire found Éponine's most ardent admirer. The kid was sat with the idiot that Éponine had taken for a partner. The kid, Gavroche, was smiling and focusing on something in his hands, a games console. The idiot, Montparnasse, was nudging him and telling him little tidbits of information. 

He nearly walked past, trying to avoid Montparnasse more than the kid, but Gavroche looked up just as he walked past. There was a surprisingly loud shout of "TAIRE!" before he was tackled with all the strength of a twelve year old boy. 

Grantaire held his glass aloft, glad that he had perfected the art of not letting his drink spill years before. He ruffled the kid's hair and grinned at him. "Hey Gavroche, little man, how you doing?" 

The boy was covered in something akin to eyeliner, oh, it was eyeliner. He had eyeliner smeared around his eyes, and a small pout drawn on his lips in baby blue lipstick. Both were severely smudged; the black eyeliner coating his cheeks and the blue lipstick trailed over his chin. He had a soft face, baby fat still clinging to his jaw and cheeks. 

Montparnasse, however, had no fat clinging to his jaw at all. He had a sharp nose, angular to the point of extreme, and a faint stubble that lined his jaw. He had his black hair, kept stylishly long, swept back in a greased quiff and a faint run of eyeliner around his catlike eyes. He smirked at the artist, the scar that cut along his face twitched as he did so. 

Grantaire nodded back. It wasn't that he didn't like Montparnasse, he wasn't sure about him. Jehan liked him well enough, but the wannabe greaser had a history of messy crimes under his belt and Grantaire didn't want Éponine caught up in them. Although he wasn't exactly sure why he was worrying about Éponine, she was a girl that could handle herself. 

"Nas was teaching me about eyeliner and Éponine let me use some of hers even though Dad said she couldn't make me like her." Gavroche was especially excitable when it came to things his parents hated him doing. It was a trait Grantaire could only admire, even if the kid misunderstood what his parents had meant. 

Grantaire detangled himself and sat down in the seat next to Montparnasse, drink still in hand, and listened to the little boy talk. He was half done with the glass by the time Gavroche had finished talking. His eyes were shining and he had a massive grin on his face, which Grantaire did find wildly charming. 

"Can I have some of that?" He pointed to the drink in the artist's hand. 

Grantaire glanced at Montparnasse. "I don't know if 'Ponine would like it..." 

Nas, as he was apparently nicknamed, came to the rescue. He offered Gavroche some of his cherry flavoured coke instead. Grantaire watched the kid's face fall, and pushed the glass across the table. "Only a little sip, deal?" 

"Deal!" The kid took the glass in both hands and took an almighty gulp. Grantaire pried the glass from his grip and cradled it in his hands while giving the little boy an amused look. 

"That was not little."

Gavroche looked guilty, but he shrugged. "Sorry." 

"Are you teaching my little brother bad habits?" Éponine smirked as she walked out of the blur of bodies around them. Montparnasse's face lit up as she approached, a smile coming to his thin lips for the first time since Grantaire had sat down. 

"Not really." Grantaire shrugged, "I think he picked them up himself." 

Gavroche's mouth lifted at one corner, until his teeth were showing in a manic half grin. Grantaire made the same face back, and watched the boy dissolve into laughter. 

Éponine sighed at them both, but she slipped into the seat on the other side of Montparnasse and took his hand. He leaned over to her and muttered something in her ear, and Grantaire felt his stomach churn. He stuck his tongue out and pulled a very distinct 'that's gross' face at Gavroche, who nodded back at him. 

"Honestly, R, I feel like you're still twelve sometimes." Éponine smiled. She not so secretly loved the relationship Grantaire had with her siblings, it was comfortable and easy. He was sort of her adopted brother, and she had once thought that maybe he could have been a lover, but they'd gotten past the point where sex was even an option for either of them. Right now, seeing him naked would be the grossest thing in the world. Didn't help that he primarily liked guys. 

Grantaire threw a glance at the crowded dance floor. "Who's playing tonight?" 

"New guy," Éponine leaned forwards to talk, the noise was growing around them as people stumbled into the club, "just moved into town. Probably your type, maybe a little girly though." 

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. "What kinda music?" 

"I'm pretty sure he said it was almost-dubstep." She waved a hand, "Go dance. Find someone, cause that's the reason you're here. Not to babysit my little brother." 

"Awlright boss." Grantaire dragged the first syllable out as he stood up. The glass in his and was nearly empty, so he downed the rest of it. The girl took the now empty glass from him and waved her hand away. 

Grantaire knew he was being dismissed, and left for the dance floor without hesitation. Once the music started and the bass dropped - that's what happened in dubstep, right? - the crowd would carry him. He wasn't as drunk as he'd like to be, but there were a few guys he wouldn't mind buying drinks. 

Several hours later, Grantaire was frantically pressed up against a boy barely old enough to be in the club as they ground their hips against each other. Sweat slicked and tasting of alcohol they grappled with each other, hands locked in finger grips as one tried to best the other. Eventually Grantaire gave in, and allowed the boy to shove him against the cold wall of the club toilets. The boy - what was his name? - kissed Grantaire's neck, and the older man muffled a moan.

It was literally then that fate decided to kick him in the bollocks. "Grantaire, you in here?" Montparnasse's voice was distinctive against the loud audio backdrop of the bass beats. 

Grantaire threw a withering look at the door between him and the dandy. "Kinda busy right now." The boy had renewed his attack on Grantaire's neck and collarbones, sliding his hands into the older man's jeans. 

"There's someone looking for you." Montparnasse sighed. Grantaire could pretty much feel him checking his nails. 

The boy looked up at him, a slightly pouted pair of lips on his face. He was pretty, and blonde, and slim, but he wasn't striking in any way. Grantaire nearly felt ashamed that he had been about to use the boy. Instead, he pried the boy's fingers away from his belt and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek with a murmured "maybe next time, hey?" before walking out of the cubicle. 

Montparnasse's eyes bulged as he took in ruffled Grantaire. The artist glanced at himself in the mirror; his lips were swollen and his hair was a mess. He turned his attention back to the man dressed in black. "Who's looking for me?" 

"Inno." Montparnasse shrugged. "Didn't give a name." 

"Describe them?" Grantaire tilted his head as he studied himself in the mirror. 

Montparnasse frowned. "Androgynous. Gorgeous. Tall. I'd be they were some kinda African." 

"Don't know any tall, androgynous Africans." Grantaire muttered, running his hands through his hair. "Can I go back to what I was doing?" 

Montparnasse shrugged. "You might not know them, but they knew you." 

Grantaire groaned. He motioned for Montparnasse to show him the way, and followed the man out of the bathrooms with a pissed off glare on his face. 

The person that knew Grantaire wasn't someone that Grantaire knew. They were tall, slim but fit, wore a pair of spectacles perched on their nose and had a polite smile on their face. They had a sweater vest on, which Grantaire found laughable. But somehow this person seemed to carry it off without making themselves look like an old fool. 

Grantaire smiled at them, and motioned to the barman who had replaced Éponine for one beer. The man nodded, and the stranger made the same signal to him. The stranger, which was what Grantaire had decided to name him until a real name came up, stood beside Grantaire without saying a word. 

The music around them thrummed through their soles, vibrating up their legs and through their chests. The bass beating with their hearts, filling their chests and bouncing their brains in their skulls. The dancing of the writing masses had not slowed nor stopped in the few minutes that the artist had slipped away to be with the boy in the bathroom. He watched, half interested in the wild movements, half ignoring the stranger stood next to him. 

Although they were tall, they had not got Jehan's gangling limbs, and although they were delicate they didn't look like the Mer that Grantaire had nearly been killed by. The stranger barely glanced at him until their beers came, placed side by side. The stranger slid a note across the table, and with a start Grantaire realised it was enough to pay for both their drinks several times over. 

"Grantaire." The stranger smiled at him. Their voice was deep and rumbling, rather like the bass that rocked through the pair of them. "I've heard a lot about you."

"None good, I hope." Grantaire murmured before taking a deep drink of the pint glass in his hand. "Who are you?" 

"My name," the stranger sighed, "is Combeferre. I'm here on behalf of a worried party." 

"Worried party?" Grantaire looked Combeferre up and down again. "Who would be worried about me?"

Combeferre gave a slight smile, but it didn't reach their eyes. Grantaire could feel the mental undressing of his cruel words and a cold feeling crept up his spine. "The worried party isn't worried about you. But rather, what influence you would have on someone else." 

"Hey look, don't speak in fucking riddles, ok? Just tell me what you came here to tell me." 

"Stop talking to Enjolras." 

It seemed then, to the artist at least, that he had been pushed under a wave of salty water. The music around him dimmed and there was a heavy thudding - his own heartbeat perhaps? The tightness in his chest only grew tighter, as though his midsection was under incredible weight. The dancers slowed and people around him started to move in a sluggish half speed. 

"What." And in that half second, the spell was broken. The music blared again, full blast, and the dancers jumped to the beat. Everyone around them moved at a proper pace again. 

Combeferre looked at him, pity and something else that Grantaire could not identify mixed in their eyes. They nodded slowly. "You need to stop seeing him, stop talking to him. It is dangerous for him, and also for you." 

"Dangerous?" Grantaire muttered. He couldn't exactly argue, the Mer had tried to kill him. "I would never- never hurt him."

"I know you wouldn't." Combeferre placated the artist. "But you might get him hurt." They grimaced. "No, you will get him hurt." 

"Who are you?" Grantaire asked again, turning to look at Combeferre properly. "No bullshit this time, ok? Who are you, to Enjolras?" 

"His best friend." They smiled, "Well, one of them." 

Grantaire stared at the person beside him. "Are you human?" 

"No." 

"So, what are you?" He looked at the rather inhuman beauty of the being stood beside him and he already knew the answer. 

"I'm Mer." Combeferre answered softly. They had finished their drink, but still held the glass in their hand. The barkeeper responded to an almost unseen gesture from them and took the glass away without making a noise. 

"Mer?" Grantaire looked down at their legs, which were most definitely legs. 

Combeferre chuckled. "The legs, huh? They seem to bug a lot of people that know. I'll... Actually, come for a walk with me." 

"Oh, are we going to the aquarium? Maybe I'll get to meet his family while were there." Grantaire muttered into his glass. He finished the dregs of his beer and pulled a face. Combeferre turned on their heels and walked out of the club without once looking back, Grantaire sighed and jogged to catch up.


	4. Sea Shanties

The duo pushed their way out of the club and out into the sea air. Grantaire looked over Combeferre one more time. The change in lighting had all the impact that was desired, instead of being beautiful and ethereal, like mermaids were meant to be, this Mer looked cruel and harsh. But the shadows that had eaten away the kindness in Combeferre's face passed as they began to walk towards the beach.

Grantaire shivered with the cold, and it occurred to him that maybe he should have picked up his jacket. He hadn't thought about it, but the idea was now feeling more and more appealing. He considered asking Combeferre to stop while he went back to retrieve the leather rag, but the words couldn't quite escape his lips.

At the beach, Combeferre pulled off the sweater vest and threw it to him. Grantaire stared as the Mer began to strip down into their underclothes; which were was a pair of boxers, light blue. They came off too. Grantaire averted his gaze, but the Mer just chuckled.

"You can look, there's nothing to hide." Combeferre turned their back to the artist and began to wade towards the ocean. Grantaire watched their body, which was - in the only words Grantaire could choose at the moment - hella fine.

Combeferre walked into the water, and as they did a shot of dark coloured something ran up their leg. The thing spread, and by the time that Combeferre was knee deep in the water the darkness had begun to spread across their buttocks and lower back. When Combeferre was about mid thigh deep they lurched, a faint hissing of air through clenched teeth could be heard from where the artist was standing.

The Mer turned to Grantaire, smiled and flicked their tail. The thing, which looked rather like the tail of some ferocious beast, made little noise as it slipped out of, and then back into, the ocean waves. Grantaire just stared, he could do little else.

"I think you understand a little more about why I care about Enjolras'... Shall we say, friendship, with you, now." Combeferre waved a hand.

Grantaire stumbled forwards, the spray lapping at his boots as he leaned towards the Mer in the darkness. "Are you telling me that Mer can... Hide themselves in human society?"

"That's completely off topic." Combeferre muttered, "But, yes. Some can. Not all. It takes years of practice."

"How many years?"

"Took me," Combeferre counted on their fingers silently, "nearly sixty."

"Si- sixty?" Grantaire felt his head reeling. What the actual fuck was he meant to do with any of this goddamn information? What the actual fuck was he doing here with a creature that pretty much wanted him dead or something? What the actual fuck?

"Yes, Mer have longer life spans than humans. But most Mer don't know that, considering that they don't interact much." Combeferre smiled. Their face was warm, even under the harsh light of the moon. They pushed through the waves, and dived into the ocean. There was a bubble of laughter as they brought their head back up into the air.

Grantaire shuffled back to the piles of clothes and sat there, watching the Mer leap through the air and glide through the water. It was beautiful to watch, no doubt. But Grantaire found himself unable to focus. He couldn't understand why he was being shown this, why he was learning so much about a race of creatures that more than likely wanted him dead.

There was a quiet voice that followed a shadow that slid over him, "I guess you want to know why I'm showing you what I am?"

"Little bit, yeah." Grantaire admitted weakly. He didn't even look up as Combeferre gathered their clothes and began slipping into them garment by garment.

"I'm showing you because, the worried party, remember them? They're me and another Mer by the name of Courfeyrac. We know what will happen if Enjolras continues talking to you, and we know that if you hurt zir we'll have to hurt you."

There was a silence before Grantaire spoke up, "What will happen if Enjolras continues talking to me?"

"Ze will die, and you will die. Not in that order. Ze'll be forced to kill you, and then have to submit to the ruling of zir's king. Which will undoubtedly be death for zir, and now, myself, too."

Grantaire nodded. "I don't want to cause and trouble for you, or... Zir?"

"Zir and ze, they're the pronouns ze chose for zirself." Combeferre explained, "I go by thon, much simpler. And Courfeyrac chose xe, xyr and xem. The most complicated one of all the pronoun sets. Xe's very into getting xyr's point across."

"I..." Grantaire spread his fingers wide and made a net of them, catching handfuls of sandy air between them before it slipped away. "Ok. Pronouns. I will work on those, I think. Unless you're gonna kill me, and then I won't. Because I'll be dead."

Combeferre sighed, thon's face softened as thon watched the artist. Thon smiled again; a common occurrence when it came to the artist, it seemed. Grantaire looked up at Combeferre, who shook thon's head. "You're so dense."

"What."

"Elegance, you have it. In spades." Combeferre sighed. "The reason I showed you that is so that you'll know me when you see me. And, don't let Enjolras do anything rash. Ze still might try to kill you, but ze'll regret it if ze does."

"Are you telling me not to let a mythical creature whom I happened to meet, shit, last night kill me? Because that's something I'd call common sense." Grantaire smiled; it was a course smile, came just as much from the alcohol in his system as it did from genuine emotion. Combeferre seemed to understand, and stood up.

"Don't let zir do anything ze'll regret. I'd recommend staying away from the beach for a while, if I was you. Ze's very persistent when ze wants something."

The artist nodded. "I won't come here then." He staggered to his feet and offered a hand to the Mer stood in front of him, he could only hope that this one had picked up on the idea of a handshake while on land. Thon had, and thon shook Grantaire's hand with a tight grip but the same cool skin as Enjolras had.

They parted ways then, Combeferre strode off in a direction in which Grantaire could fathom no sense in heading towards. The Mer had a quick stride, and thon was surprisingly steady on thon's feet which had moments before been a tail. Unless Grantaire was hallucinating something, which he couldn't put past himself. This could all be one really bad, trippy dream.

He sighed and brushed the sand from his jeans. It constantly amazed him, how even rocky beaches could have such a large amount of sand. Jehan said they shipped it in from some other beach somewhere to make it more attractive as a tourist resort, but Grantaire didn't really care. The sand was here and it was a bother, that was all. He decided that collecting his jacket could wait for the morning, and turned on his heel to walk home.

\--

Bed was warm and soft, and the world was too bright and too loud and painful. Grantaire buried his face in the duvet and went back to sleep as many times as he could until his body was done with sleeping. His bones ached from being asleep so long, his head pounded, his mouth was dry and he could taste bile in his throat.

Jehan had left him some water and some aspirin beside his bed. Grantaire swallowed three times the recommended amount and drank the entire glass of now lukewarm water. He curled up in bed again and tried in vain to go to sleep.

There was a soft knock on his door, and he peered out into the still relatively dark room. Jehan was stood in the doorway, obvious worry on his face. "You ok, R?"

Grantaire shook his head. He just ached to crawl back into his duvet and lie there until the heaviness in his chest passed.

"Do you want me to stay?" Jehan asked, still hovering in the doorway. The poet was unsure, and that alone told R all that he needed to know about how long he'd been asleep for.

He nodded slowly. Jehan's face was lit up with a relieved expression. On really bad days Grantaire would refuse to let Jehan stay, but on days where the mood swings weren't so bad he could allow the poet to stay.

Jehan ventured into the room and perched himself on the edge of the bed. Grantaire lifted one side of the duvet, and a stench of unwashed flesh and sweat rolled over the poet, who didn't even notice it in his haste to fill the gap between the duvet and the man lying beneath it.

Grantaire felt a pair of arms around his thickset middle and a pair of absurdly long legs tangle with his own. Jehan pressed his face against Grantaire's neck and muttered something, a poem probably. The artist felt himself relaxing, his tensed muscles giving up the grip that he had and allowing themselves to lie limp on his bones while Jehan's words soothed him.

The boys lay like that until Grantaire fell asleep again, with Jehan still murmuring away. It was on the days when Grantaire didn't have words that Jehan's affinity for them came in incredibly handy. The long limbed man shuffled them around, so that the shorter man was resting on his chest. He ran his pianist's fingers through the curled springs of Grantaire's hair, feeling the grease from the sea air and the fifteen hour catnap between them. Grantaire didn't even move as Jehan's tone shifted from a relatively upbeat poem about camels, into a softer, harsher poem about mermaids drowning sailors for fun.

\--

Down at the beach, the small crowds of bored teenagers and families looking for a day out had left and only the lapping waves danced on the sandy pebbles. Further out, past the harbour, three Mer were having a violent discussion.

The first, blonde haired, blue eyed Enjolras was shouting something about the invasion of zirs privacy. The second, dark skinned Combeferre, was shouting something else about wanting to protect zir from zirs own stupidity. The third, a youthful mischief in xyrs eyes, watched them. Xe only interjected when absolutely necessary, to stop one of the two Mer from saying something they'd regret.

"What right did you have to go and talk to him?" Enjolras was shouting, hand gestures and fierce sonar waves helping zir make zirs point.

Combeferre sighed like thon was dealing with a petulant child. "No right, just a worry about you. You've already crossed the king twice, the armed guards came after you, do you remember?"

"Yes, of course I remember. That doesn't give you any right to go and scare him." Enjolras growled.

"I didn't scare him!" Combeferre scowled.

Courfeyrac watched them both, fiddling with a silver chain xe had found in the shallows one day. Xe usually wore it around xyrs neck, but when xe was nervous it managed to find a way into xyrs hands. When xe finally spoke up, both Mer looked at xyr.

"I think we need to talk to him, and then see what he wants."

"He doesn't want to die." Combeferre offered, "He said he would learn our pronouns if we didn't kill him."

"You mean, if you didn't kill him."

The dark skinned Mer sighed. "He thought you wanted him dead too, Enjolras. You're no better than I am."

There was a moment, and then the blonde relented like a small child having been told that their father was right. Ze nodded, "I know. I'm sorry. I'm just frustrated."

"We know." Both other Mer said at the same time. Combeferre followed it with, "Please don't blame me, that's all I ask." And Courfeyrac followed that with, "The rules are dumb, we should totally kill the king."

"We're not going to kill the king." Combeferre said sharply. Enjolras looked tempted, but said nothing. "We have to dismantle the power structures and the traditions. The king is just a figurehead."

"A figurehead who still wields enough power to banish half the young population." Enjolras muttered into the water surrounding them. Ze closed his eyes and breathed deep, feeling the water caressing zir. "Sorry."

"Totally cool." Courfeyrac said with a grin. Combeferre just nodded, but a tiny smile had crept through the frustration on thons face. Enjolras caught sight of it and began smiling back. Soon, all of them were beaming for reasons none of them could directly identify.

\--

Jehan had ordered pizza, and Grantaire had stared at it while the poet had eaten slice after slice. None of his cajoling had managed to convince the artist to eat, none of it had appealed to him at all. Grantaire just lay in his bed, his mind hazed in a fog that he didn't really understand or invite in.

This happened every now and then, both of them knew it. Some days Grantaire just couldn't convince his body that it wanted to move, or even be. It was still better than the nights he spent sobbing into his pillow while Jehan wrapped bandages around his arms and tried to soothe him with empty words.

"R," Jehan murmured into the artist's lank hair, "I love you."

Grantaire nodded robotically. The words rung hollow and he couldn't kick his mind into accepting the truth of them at all. It made him feel a little bit sick, if he was honest. The hunger starting to worm its way into his stomach and mind hadn't helped with that though; but he couldn't make himself eat. He could barely keep himself awake, actually. The desire to do nothing was overwhelming.

His phone rang, and Jehan reached out for it. In the semi lit room Grantaire could see it was an unknown number. Jehan thumbed the red button and cut off the noise. The heavy silence settled around them again and they both got lost in their own thoughts.

"I have often told you stories about the way I lived the life of a drifter, waiting for the day when I'd take your hand, and sing you songs. Then maybe you would say, come lay with me love me. And I would surely stay."

Jehan whispered to himself, but his voice soon grew louder. It hung around the two of them in the darkness and Grantaire found himself relaxing to the sound of his best friend's high, clear melodies. Jehan laughed in the middle of one line, cleared his throat and began on a different song.

"When I was a lad in a fishing town, me old man said to me: 'You can spend your life, your jolly life, just sailing on the sea. You can search the world for pretty girls, till your eyes are weak and dim. But, don't go searching for a mermaid, son, if you don't know how to swim..."

Grantaire hadn't realised that he'd sat up, he hadn't realised that he had been looking open mouthed at Jehan. The poet gave him a strange look, a small frown forming between his brows. "Did you like that one?"

There was a moment before Grantaire nodded. "Sing it again?"

Jehan smiled. Anything that caught Grantaire's attention on the days like this was a miracle. A goddamn miracle. He sat up properly, so he was facing the photographer properly.

He sang it again, completely. The notes at times could have been better pitched but Grantaire didn't notice, or didn't care.

__

When I was a lad in a fishin' town,  
Me old man said to me:  
"You can spend your life, your jolly life,  
Just sailin' on the sea.

__

"You can search the world for pretty girls,  
Till your eyes are weak and dim,  
But, don't go searchin' for a mermaid, son,  
If you don't know how to swim."

__

'Cause her hair was green as seaweed,  
Her skin was blue and pale,  
Her face it was a work of art,  
I loved that girl with all my heart,  
But I only liked the upper part,  
I did not like the tail.

__

I signed on to a sailing ship,  
My very first day at sea,  
I seen the mermaid in the waves,  
A-reachin' out to me.

__

"Come live with me in the sea," said she,  
"Down on the ocean floor;  
And I'll show you a million wonderous things  
You've never seen before."

__

So over I jumped and she pulled me down,  
Down to her seaweed bed,  
And a pillow made of a tortoise shell  
She placed beneath my head.

__

She fed me shrimp and caviar  
Upon a silver dish,  
From her head to her waist it was just my taste,  
But the rest of her was a fish!

__

'Cause hair was green as seaweed,  
Her skin was blue and pale,  
Her face it was a work of art,  
I loved that girl with all my heart,  
But I only liked the upper part,  
I did not like the tail.

__

But then one day she swam away,  
So I sang to the clams and the whales:  
"Oh, how I miss her seaweed hair  
And the silvery glow of her scales."

__

But then her sister she swam by  
And set me heart a-whirl,  
'Cause her upper part was an ugly fish  
But the bottom part was a girl.

__

Yes, her hair was green as seaweed,  
Her skin was blue and pale,  
Her legs they are a work of art,  
I love that girl with all my heart,  
And I don't give a damn about the upper part,  
'Cause that's how I get my tail.

Jehan laughed after the song was finished, a small chuckle. "It's a cruel song, but it shows the nature of seafarers quite well."

Grantaire smiled, and was thankful for the dark. He didn't want the poet to see the strain working away at his lips as he forced his mouth to make a shape it didn't want to make.


	5. Tag

The next few days were hard for Jehan, and even more so for Grantaire. The mood swings that shook his mental stability to its core caused several badly worded arguments and cutting insults to be thrown at the poet, the anger at the world could only be taken out on a canvas and he knew that. 

So, like all artists do eventually, he allowed himself to feel his emotions and threw them at his chosen medium; the canvas became covered in blood, ruby and rose reds. Bright yellow, golden swirls laced through the battlefield of paint. Bright, piercing blue shot through the bright bold colours and a soft grey lined the edges of the canvas. 

Grantaire painted for three days with no rest. He didn't sleep, or eat, or even drink to Jehan's knowledge. The bottle of Jack Daniel's in his drawers was emptied, and a second one was bought and drained too. Grantaire felt his stumble growing out into an unrefined beard, and it was only the focus on the canvases that kept him from running to the bathroom to remove it. 

The fourth day was different. When Jehan made breakfast, Grantaire was there. He was shaven, showered and the paint that had engrained itself into his skin was fainter. The dark bruises under his eyes made Jehan's face contort before he could control it. 

"That bad, huh?" 

Jehan nodded. He left it at that, and placed the omelette he'd made for himself down in front of the artist. Grantaire didn't even notice, he just looked at Jehan. 

"What?" The poet asked, eventually. He didn't exactly enjoy people noticing his presence unless he was in the mood. He'd been called an introverted extrovert a few times, even though he didn't actually know if that was technically possible. 

Grantaire shook his head, picked up his fork and shovelled the still hot omelette into his mouth. He grimaced as he burnt his tongue but it didn't matter, the food touched his taste buds and he realised he was not just hungry, but starving. He was so hungry and so thirsty. 

The omelette was finished nearly immediately. Jehan placed his second one in front of the dark haired boy and smiled, cracking another three eggs into his mixing bowl and whisking them. Grantaire shuffled to the fridge and pulled out a pack of burgers, some bacon and two cartons of freshly squeezed orange juice - without bits, because Jehan had something against the lumps of fruit in his drinks. 

"Did you go shopping?" 

Jehan nodded, folding the omelette in the pan in half. He flipped it and let the other side brown a little. "We sold out the entire set of framed photographs while you were having your time off. And the set of three canvasses... The setting sun ones?" 

"It was a rising sun." Grantaire muttered as he shoved the bacon and burgers under the grill. "But that's good, right?" 

"Means we're now making profits this month, instead of just catching our expenses." Jehan beamed, half his omelette already missing. The smirk on his face doubled as he saw Grantaire reach for some of the fruit he'd left out on the side. 

Admittedly, neither of the boys ate properly most of the time. But, after Grantaire's mood swings, Jehan always bought more food for the week than they'd usually eat in a month. And that sort of went both ways. When he was writing Grantaire bought a ton of junk food and shoved it at him. Only way he'd eat. 

"That's good, right?" 

Jehan nodded. He finished his omelette with an entertained smile on his face. His cheeks hurt after a while, but he kept smiling. The fact that Grantaire was back to being, well, him was one of the best things in the world.

"I did some more canvases..." He seemed unsure how to phrase the words. "Um, they're in my room if you wanna see them?" 

"I'll check them once I've washed up." Jehan waved a hand at the surprising mess Grantaire had made of their kitchen. 

"Don't worry about it," Grantaire spat through a mouthful of apple, "I'll clean up." 

"Sure?" 

"Mhmm." The artist nodded, the apple forming a huge lump in his throat as he swallowed. 

Jehan cast a skeptical eye around the room and nodded. He padded out of the room, his bare feet feeling the difference between the tiled kitchen floor and the wooden floor of the hall. He'd ripped up the carpet himself; it had been a loathsome thing with beige splotches on different shades of beige. 

Grantaire's room was dark and smelt of stale sweat, alcohol and cigarettes. The canvases were stacked one on top of each other in the corner, facing his bed. The first was a profile shot of a blonde with smeared red lipstick - blood? - on their lips. The second, which Jehan had to move the first to see, was a black man's face. He was beautiful in the same way the previous person was. Something artistic in the picture... Beautiful. Those were the only two. But there was a third canvas, blank, leaning against the wall. Clearly these weren't finished yet. 

\--

The beach was cold and Enjolras wasn't sure ze liked it. The waves were keeping zir tail warm, but the air was brisk and ze could feel zir skin arching up in tiny bumps. The humans, Ferre had told them, called these lumps goosebumps. Enjolras wasn't entirely sure what a goose was and why it had bumps, but he supposed it did sound cooler than barnacle bumps. 

The sun was just beginning to rise, which would mean that ze would have to disappear soon. Ze could probably sleep on the sand bed further out, curling zirself around zir tail. The sand and the water would cradle zir while ze drifted off into a state of half being. Staying up all night had tired zir out completely; it was a stupid hope that the dark haired human would show up after not coming for the best part of a week. Enjolras hoped that Combeferre hadn't scared him off. 

The sky began to leak different colours, shades of orange and pink blurred into one another as the giant orb of fire rose in the sky. Enjolras watched it until the air began to warm and the water beneath zir did too. Ze smiled, a proper smile, because even though ze may have lost a potential friend, ze was still able to witness the beauty of nature. 

\--

Grantaire woke up in his bedroom the next morning, he was surprised to find out that it was, in fact, still morning. The alarm clock that he never set said it was 6:21 am. He considered lying in bed, but that reminded him of the past week too much for it to be a comforting thought. Instead, he rolled out of bed and shoved on a pair of jeans. They were artistically ripped around the knees, and so he concluded them to be Jehan's not his own. It didn't matter though, he and the poet shared everything any way. 

It was with this logic in mind that Grantaire pilfered a pack of his best friend's cigarettes. They were some terrible menthol brand, but at least he could smoke them. The pack was slid into his back pocket as he picked up his keys and slid out of the door. The air was cold, much too cold to be out without a jacket. 

It was 6am. Someone would be at the club, cleaning up from last night and getting the place ready for tonight. Stupid though it may seem, the club was the only place for anyone under the age of 30 to meet other people under the age of 30 in this little fishing town. It was shabby and in dire need of some repair, but it was home to a lot of the younger crowd. He could actually remember when it had been converted from a warehouse. 

He was walking towards it before the thought registered in his mind. The streets were quiet, but the occasional dog walker or tourist going towards the beach front for breakfast passed him by. The smell of the salt air filled his lungs and he realised he actually quite liked it, the saltiness of the air dried out his skin and made his hair a mess but he genuinely loved it. The feeling it gave him was that of being pure, being free. 

The club was up ahead, and Grantaire slipped down a side passage. He was aiming for the back doors, those would be open to air the place out. He'd had a job here for a few months, knew the routines like clockwork, but he wasn't sure who would be doing it. 

"Hello?" He called out, into the darkness of the sweat and spilled drink laced room. "Anyone here?"

There was no reply. He muttered to himself about the lack of communication with the younger kids, but stopped because he realised it made him sound very old. Instead, he found his way in the dark to the coat room. Inside were a few fancy fashionable jackets that the ladies had worn not for protection from the elements but to look better than each other. For whom, he wasn't sure. He hoped they were dressing for themselves, but he remembered being barely eighteen and interested in getting laid. He'd pulled every stunt, including dressing like a twat to bag the hot guy. 

His jacket had managed to slip under the tables and he found it crumpled in the corner of the room. He managed to fish it out without much damage and dusted it off by slapping at it a few times. The sound was louder than he expected, so he stopped and just slipped the jacket on over his shoulders. 

The way back was easier, in the darkness the open doors were the only source of light and he managed to make his way to it without breaking anything. Out in the open air again he realised just how much the place reeked of body odour, alcohol and weed. The three vices of the youth. 

He padded his way back out onto the Main Street and found he had ten quid in his inner pocket. That was a nice surprise. Grantaire decided he was going to buy a breakfast butty with it. Catch of the day down at the fishermen's stalls sounded good. 

Grantaire walked towards the sea front. The touristy bit, covered with tacky shops and half thought through cafés. He kept walking until he came to the end of that row, and there was the best breakfast place ever. It was a tiny little wooden shack dwarfed by its competitors, but every knew about the Dolphin. 

He leaned on the counter and grinned at the old lady behind it. She slapped him on the wrist, "Stand up Grantaire, for fucks sake." 

Grantaire stood up, nodded and beamed at her. "I'll have a ca-"

"One catch of the day with cheese coming right up." She smiled and shook her head fondly. 

"You know me so well. I should marry you." He laughed. The old woman tsk-ed her teeth and sighed. 

Grantaire watched her as she moved, first she slapped a fish fillet - fresh that day, of course - on the grill, then she toasted two slabs of bread. Slabs was the correct word. Grantaire felt he could pave streets with these bits of bread. Then she ran a buttered knife along the top of the bread and let the fish cook properly. The fish was slapped into the bun and an entire blocks worth of grated cheese was dumped on top of it. The whole thing was grilled until the cheese melted and she wrapped it up in a little dumb paper bag, handed it to Grantaire and snatched the ten pound note dangling from his fingers. 

He dug in before he got his change back, feeling the burning sensation of hot fish and hot cheese and hot bread mixing in his mouth. His tastebuds went wild, and his stomach joined them. The sandwich was heavenly. 

The old woman passed back a crumpled fiver and a few coins. Grantaire didn't bother to check them, instead he just shoved them in his back pocket and gave a muffled thanks. The old woman smiled at him. 

"Did you hear about the Thénardiers?" She asked, just before Grantaire was about to leave. He shook his head. "They've been arrested, and that poor girl, Éponine, had to deal with all her little siblings alone." She tutted. 

Grantaire swallowed. "What for?" 

"The usual, the things we all knew they were doing but couldn't prove. You know the sort of things they do."

"Yeah," Grantaire nodded, he did know. He knew better than most. "Thanks for telling me."

"Not a problem, love." The woman smiled. She turned to serve a couple that had just approached the hut. Grantaire walked away, eating and thinking. 

\--

Enjolras woke up on a comfortable sand bed surrounded by noise and light. Courfeyrac was laughing. Xe was laughing a lot. Enjolras sat up, but this only seemed to increase zirs friend's laughter. Courfeyrac was flopping around in a most inelegant way, clutching at xemself as xe laughed. The bubbles that escaped xyrs lips looked like they could have held the noise of xyr laughter. 

Enjolras looked down at zirself, trying to find the funny thing. Ze saw it in the sand. Someone, ze wasn't going to name names but ze was pretty certain it was the laughing Mer in front of zir, had buried zir in sand and made a pair of human legs as a sculpture. Courfeyrac was pissing xemself, xyr entire body was shaking with laughter at the idea of Enjolras with human legs. 

"Courfeyrac!" Ze shouted, struggling to pull zirself out of the sand. "I am going to murder you!" Ze struggled for a while before the sand decided to give up and let zir escape, and with that ze shot across the ocean floor towards the laughing Mer. 

Courfeyrac swallowed a laugh, a panic on xyrs face now. Xe swam straight up, and Enjolras followed. They chased each other like baby seals, elegant and beautiful but hilariously childish at the same time. The waves above them weren't disturbed by their activities, but their tails did on occasion brush the surface of the water. 

Enjolras followed Courfeyrac's blind movements and the duo found themselves in the middle of the harbour. Courf was hiding behind the rock, and Enjolras was determined to catch xyr. 

\--

Grantaire wandered along the beach, the hot food in his mouth and stomach had him in a better mood than he'd been in for a week. The faint smell of the ocean filled his nose and the air brushed the cobwebs from his lungs. He grinned to himself and crumpled the paper bag in his hands. 

The cigarettes were fished from his back pocket and one was jammed between his lips, the lighter that was always in his pocket was flicked and the flame sparked up. He lit the end of the cigarette with one hand cupped around it to stop the wind from killing the flames. 

The first drag was heaven. His body had been aching for nicotine for the best part of 24 hours. He'd spent most of yesterday eating and learning that his body actually didn't particularly enjoy being abused. It was a strange day, but he'd managed to catch a few hours sleep and he was well fed, so there was nothing to complain about really. 

He looked up and found himself on the harbour beach, the stones underfoot were getting smaller and there was a thin layer of sand here. He must be getting closer to the tourist areas of the beach. He decided that he'd walk past them, and head for the rock pools. 

\--

"Enjolras! I'm sorry!" Courfeyrac gasped between giggling fits. Xe was panting heavily and Enjolras's fingers were caressing xyrs gills softly, teasing xyr a little bit, and torturing xyr a lot. "It was a joke!" 

"You're so lucky I love you, you stupid fuck." Enjolras muttered under zirs breath. Ze smiled though, and took zirs hand back from the Mer's throat. Ze winked and used zirs tail to spank Courfeyrac's butt. Ze grinned and shot off through the water, with Courfeyrac chasing after zir. 

\-- 

Grantaire walked around the crescent of he he harbour and found himself treading on the larger and larger stones, turning into rock slabs that would actually be used as pavement in some places of the town. He walked around to the point, where the harbour stopped being a harbour and actually became the open sea. He looked out over the horizon, but there were low clouds today and the mainland couldn't be seen. 

"Enjol-" 

"-kill you!" 

The words were drifted to him on the wind. He heard the first from behind him, but the second from in front. The second voice was most definitely one he recognised, but the first wasn't. 

He cast his gaze around at the waves, willing himself to see past them and down into the water. There was a flash of colour, and another. Two Mer? One wasn't Combeferre, that was for sure. Combeferre's voice was surly, deep and rich, this one sounded more like a teenager that had just gone through puberty and was far too proud of it. 

A blonde head emerged from the water, and a black haired one followed. They laughed at each other, and the black haired one stuck his tongue out at the blonde one, until he noticed the man on the rocks. 

"Enj, I think we're being watched." They said softly, but the wind dragged the words over to Grantaire's hearing. 

Enjolras turned around, and his face covered the entire range of possible emotions before settling on disinterested. "Hello, Grantaire."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I understand the basic plot now!! Everything starts getting awful in the next chapter, sorry about that.


	6. Attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some good things happen, then bad things happen, then worse things happen, then it ends with some stuff that could be good to bad or both depending on your outlook on life. 
> 
> Also, Courfeyrac.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry that this is so late, but I've had family and school and ugh life. It really gets in the way of, well, living. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. The only things I have left to say are that I got some wonderful fanart of Enjolras and you're all amazing. Thank you for reading this.

"That's better than human," Grantaire smiled. He could feel the smile didn't quite look right, but at the same time he wasn't sure he wanted it to look right. Nothing about him really did, why should his smile? "How are you?"

He knelt down on the rocks, trying to get closer to eye level for both Mer. He cast a gaze over the other one, a wide Asian face stared back at him. The Mer's eyes were an incredible bright brown with hints of gold and yellow thrown in; the fins around the Mer's arms and waist told him that none of that was a mistake.

Enjolras looked at Grantaire, really looked. A hint of worry flashed across zirs face before the mask was back. "I'm fine, Courfeyrac's been keeping me entertained. What happened to you?" 

The other Mer - Courfeyrac, who used pronouns with as many Xs as possible - shifted in the water slightly. Xe was ready to fight and run, but wasn't sure which was necessary. Grantaire nodded at xyr. 

"I had a few, bad mental health days." He didn't see the point in lying to the Mer, it wasn't like he had a reputation for it here. "On a scale of one to ten it was about a six or seven." 

Enjolras frowned. "You're sick?" 

Grantaire nodded, "Something like that, yeah." 

"How did you get sick?" The Mer asked, coming closer. The mask was gone now, a concerned frown had made itself at home in the space where zirs eyebrows should have been. 

There was a pause before Grantaire shrugged. "Dunno. I was born broken, I think." 

Enjolras nodded. "I know that feeling." Ze smiled, "But you're not broken. Just, damaged?" 

Grantaire smiled a lopsided smile. The right side of his mouth twitched upwards, but the left pretty much stayed the same. The Mer smiled back. There was a moment when Grantaire considered asking why the Mer knew that feeling, but he chose not to ask. 

Instead, he turned his gaze onto Courfeyrac. "Hey, I'm Grantaire. Call me R, or like Enjolras used to, human." 

The other Mer nodded. "Courfeyrac, or Courf." 

Grantaire shuffled so he was sitting down, his butt was cold against the wet rocks but it didn't matter. He pulled another cigarette from the pack in his pocket before hiding the pack in his jacket pocket, found his lighter and lit a cigarette. Both Mer were watching him intently. 

"You never seen a cigarette before?" He asked, a genuine surprising tinting his words. 

"Nope." Courfeyrac shook xyrs head. Enjolras copied.

Grantaire took a drag, and he felt like a bad older brother when he blew the smoke out into the air. Both sets of Mer eyes were watching it intently. The cigarette was caught between his index and middle finger on his left hand, which made it easier for him to gesture with his right while he was talking. He'd learnt to smoke with his left hand while he was painting, the right was always busy with the brush. 

Courfeyrac glided closer, pushing past the waves and causing no ripples in the water. "Can I try?" 

Grantaire thought about it. He wasn't sure how it would affect the Mer, but he wasn't ever going to say no. Especially considering that these guys were actually older than him, probably. "You can, if you tell me your ages."

Courf narrowed xyrs eyes and pouted slightly. Then, shook xyrs head and said, "I'm fifty eight. Combeferre is sixty nine, it's thon's hatchday soon actually." Xe turned to Enjolras, who suddenly looked very young. 

"I'm twenty three." 

"What." Grantaire's mouth dropped open. "You're... Ok, you're younger than me." 

"I am?" 

"M'twenty seven." Grantaire smiled. He passed the cigarette to the older Mer and watched xyr take a drag. Xe coughed, wrinkled xyr's nose and tried again. The second time was better, xe managed to breathe it in without choking xyrself. But, breathing out was a difficulty. 

Grantaire reached for his cigarette back, and was handed it by the surprised looking mermaid. Xe blinked and wrinkled xyr's nose. "I don't like it." Xe muttered. 

"No one does at first." The artist admitted, "It's addictive. That's what gets you hooked on it. There's a whole market based on getting humans addicted to stuff." 

Both Mer looked at him blankly. "Addicted?" Enjolras asked. 

Grantaire paused, waved his hands around in the air and then explained it, "A craving. You need more of it, because your body needs it." 

"Like food?" Courfeyrac offered. 

"Sort of." 

Enjolras seemed ok with that. Ze nodded and began to sink under the waves, down into the salty water. Courfeyrac, however, leaned on a rock jutting into the water and stared at Grantaire. "Tell me more." 

"More?" Grantaire asked, cocking his head. "More?!" Enjolras explained, shoot back up out of the water and glaring at zirs friend. 

"More." Courf confirmed. "I'll tell you about us, if you tell me about your people." 

Enjolras blinked open mouthed. "I don't," ze began, "think that's a good idea. Remember what Ferre said?" 

"Stuff Ferre." Courfeyrac waved xyrs hand. "Thon didn't want us learning about the humans because it was risky. Well, now you have a human here who wants to teach you and you're willing to leave that? I don't think so!" 

Enjolras shot a glance at Grantaire. A sickness settled in zirs stomach and ze sighed heavily. "Glob, if this gets us in trouble, Courfeyrac, I am making you into chum." 

Courfeyrac gave the most shit eating little brother grin Grantaire had ever seen in his life, even worse than Gavroche, and pulled xyrself up onto the rock face properly. Xe perched there and watched Grantaire shift in his seat.

"What do you want to, uh, know?" He asked, a little uncertain of himself. 

Courf shrugged. "What do you do all day?" 

"I'm an artist," the look on Enjolras' face made Grantaire explain it further, "I make things people want to put in their homes or offices... Like, pictures and paintings?" 

The Mer looked at each other, then at the human. They blinked in unison. 

Grantaire pulled his phone from his pocket and snapped a quick photo of the two Mer. He showed them the image. "This is a photograph. It's like, a permanent capture of the image." Both Mer nodded; slowly and unsure but they still nodded. "I can take these, and then make them so that you can hold them in your hands." 

"Do it." Courfeyrac said. "Show us." 

The artist shook his head. "I can't do that now, I don't have my equipment." 

Enjolras cleared zirs throat. "What's paintings?" 

"Do you remember the thing I showed you, the drawing of you?" He asked. The Mer nodded, a smile crossing zirs face. "That's a drawing. If I drew that on a big canvas, like a thing for putting paintings on, and then put paint on it. That would be a painting. They can be used for making things that there are no photos of." 

Both Mer looked pretty happy with that, although Courfeyrac had a slightly suspicious smirk on xyrs face. 

"And I make those all day. I sell them. I give them to people for money." 

Courfeyrac's face lit up. "Money is the papers and round things, isn't it?" 

Grantaire nodded. "Yeah! That's notes and coins." 

"So you give people images they can hold for notes and coins?" Enjolras said, scorn layered thickly over the wonder and amazement in zirs voice. "That sounds so... Stupid." 

The human shrugged, brought his cigarette to his lips and blew a stream of smoke the way of the Mer. "What do you do all day then?"

Courfeyrac and Enjolras looked at each other. "We play games, and have fun. And sometimes we break important things." Courfeyrac smirked. Grantaire felt he was missing something, which was confirmed by a deep groan from Enjolras and flushed cheeks. 

"I didn't break his fork!" Enjolras muttered, hiding behind zirs hands. Courfeyrac just nodded, the shit eating grin from earlier was back and xe looked proud of xyrself, puffed chest and relaxed posture. 

"You don't have jobs?" Grantaire asked, his eyebrows meeting. 

Courfeyrac shook xyrs head, and Enjolras shrugged. They didn't seem to know what a job was, and Grantaire wasn't in the right mood to go though the economic benefits of having a system set up by people with the idea of exchanging of goods for money. 

"Ok, well... What do you do for food?" He asked, somewhat curious actually. 

Enjolras darted forwards, being the only one left in the ocean, and ze pulled zirself up onto the rocks. "Food is easy. There's fish everywhere. And we can eat them if we catch them." 

Grantaire nodded. "Cool." 

"What... What is cool? Are you cold?" Enjolras asked, tilting zir head. "Do you want to go somewhere warmer?" 

Ze seemed to be completely serious about this, and Grantaire muffled his laughter. He turned it into a cough. "No, no. It's just a word. I'm fine, honestly." 

The morning passed comfortably, both Mer were willing to tell Grantaire anything he wanted to know. And he tried his best to answer their many, many questions. 

It was about midday when the waves around the Mer's tails began to climb the rocks. Grantaire thought it was strange, the tide wasn't due to come in for another few hours, but ignored it. The Mer did too. 

It was only once the waves parted in front of them to show another Mer that the two Mer's faces dropped into defensive masks. The big Mer, who was twice the size of any man Grantaire had ever seen in his life, wasn't as beautiful as either of the Mer sitting beside the human. Instead, they were cruel in their expression, too sharp. They looked like a shark, pointed nose and thin eyes. This one was a dull silver grey across his tail, his gills flared across his ribs and neck. 

The big one smiled, their teeth were pointed and layered. "Enjolras, Coufeyrac, my friends." 

"What do you want?" The blonde hissed, zir hands flexing and ready to attack. Grantaire began to climb to his feet. 

"Stay, human, it is because of you that I come." The larger Mer said, their voice perfectly level. "It is because of your knowledge of us that I am here." 

"Don't touch him." Enjolras growled, the words were more than the noise from zirs mouth. Courfeyrac recognised the deepness in them, Grantaire couldn't hear it. This was a command. 

Grantaire climbed to his feet, and Courfeyrac slipped into the water. Xyrs hands were in fists too. Grantaire could feel the tension in the two Mer and the relaxed cockiness in the third. 

"Grantaire, go home." Courfeyrac said quietly. "You're not needed here." 

The human looked at the two of them. The two tiny Mer, against the hugest thing he had ever seen. A wrenching in his gut opened him up, but his feet were already moving. He could feel the two Mer trying to keep him safe, and if walking away would help them he would do that. 

He walked away, his hands in his pockets. There was a moment of silence as he retreated. Then the water burst and a wounded yell sounded through the air. He whipped his head back, eyes looking for the two Mer he'd spent the morning with. 

They weren't there. The waves were back to their regular rhythm, stroking the rocks at the usual height. The Mer were all gone, every last trace of them. He started to go back, his feet tripping over themselves as he moved. 

He crashed to his knees in front of the waves, feeling the biting rock draw blood from him. The rocks were still wet about a foot above where the water was, and he could see his distorted reflection in the waves. He could only hear his breathing and heartbeat above the waves. 

A feeling along the arch of his neck tickled him, slowly he turned his head. Something smashed into the side of his face and the world went black. He fell gracelessly to the side, and even those noises stopped too. 

\-- 

"Grantaire?" 

The voice was a million miles away. 

"Grantaire, please?" 

The artist opened his eyes. 

"Grantaire." It sounded relieved, as though it had been expecting him to be dead. "Are you ok?"

"My..." Grantaire sat up, which was a massive mistake. The world swam around him and a red and black light show played behind his eyes. "I'm gonna hurl." 

He did. Long stringy strands of saliva ejected themselves from his body as his back arched and throat strained. He hacked a cough out from his chest and the saliva stopped. 

"Oh god." Combeferre muttered. "They hit you really bad." 

Grantaire groaned deep in his throat. "Kill me." 

"No, I absolutely will not!" The Mer sounded offended, and Grantaire had to let a lopsided smile out at that. Thon was only offended when he was making a joke. 

"Kidding." Grantaire groaned, his head was settling but his stomach was rioting. "What the-" his throat contracted as his stomach forced itself up through his system. He coughed up another wad of blood speckled saliva and wiped his hand across his mouth. "Jesus fucking Christ." 

"I believe Jesus Christ was one man, so he couldn't be-"

"Yeah, got it." Grantaire said quickly. "Just... Shit! Enjolras and Courfeyrac!" 

Combeferre nodded grimly. "I know where they are. I think I know where they are." 

"Think? You think you know where they are?" Grantaire crawled to his feet, his head swam but he didn't let himself throw up. Swallowing the bitter bile that collected in his throat made him want to throw up again though. 

The artist actually noticed his surroundings for the first time since waking up. He was cold, and wet, and most definitely not where he had been left. He was in some kind of cave carved into a large rock, just above water level. Combeferre was in the water, bobbing gently with the waves. It was dark though, too dark. 

"How long was I out?" 

"Close to five hours from what I can guess... I found you at the harbour when I was looking for Enjolras. It's about six pm now. I just, I don't know what happened." 

"Big shark looking motherfucker came and took Enjolras and Courfeyrac and someone knocked me out and oh god my head hurts." Grantaire sank back to his knees and gingerly touched the side of his head. There was some gloop spread over it. It felt vaguely spongy, but it also felt like it was an algae coated rock. Gross. 

"Medicine." Combeferre explained. "Nothing was broken. You were just bleeding. I stopped it, as best I could. You can take it off."

"Why... Why am I not in a hospital?" Grantaire asked, peeling the gloop away from his face. His fingers skimmed the place where his skin was split and there was a flash of pain, but it was ignorable.

Combeferre's face contorted into a mask of agony. "I'm truly sorry, but I need you." 

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. "How so?" 

"I need you to come with me to get Enjolras and Courfeyrac back." Combeferre's cheeks flushed and thon looked incredibly uncomfortable. "I wouldn't ask if I could find another way around it. I honestly wouldn't." 

"What do you need me for, exactly?" Grantaire asked, gingerly pressing his fingers to the cut. He hissed a stream of air out of his teeth and pulled a face. 

"Stop touching it." Combeferre offered. Thon swallowed and continued, "I need you to prove that you won't tell anyone about the Mer. And to do that, I need to take you to the king. I need you to come with me." 

There was a heavy silence between the two of them. Grantaire reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. It was coated in beaded water and the screen was black. He groaned loudly. 

The rest of his clothes were soaked through too. "We're swimming there, I guess?" 

Thon nodded. "Yes. It's not too far away." 

"And it is safe for humans?"

"There have been no humans there before, but the place where the king holds his meetings has oxygen. It is a chamber below the sea." 

"How do we get there? I can't swim that deep... Pressure an' all." Grantaire shrugged. "I want to help, I do. But I can't help if I'm dying. Or dead." 

"That's true." Combeferre nodded. "I found an old friend in the town, which is why Enjolras and Courf were here. They came with me when we were exiled." 

"Exiled?" Grantaire's eyebrows shot into the wet mess of his hair. 

Thon shrugged. "It's a long story and we don't really have the time. I'll tell you one day." 

"If I'm still alive." The artist grumbled almost under his breath. 

The Mer frowned but let it go. Thon lifted a fishing net bag out of the water. It was just about the right size to be a decent handbag. Inside it was a jar, one of those eons for homemade jams, full of a slushy grey green mixture. "You need to get into the water and drink this." 

Grantaire looked at it and could already feel his stomach revolting, fighting it's own mini rebellion against the control of his Mer addled mind. He reached out and took the jar, screwed the lid off and poured it down his throat. A small noise escaped his lips as he swallowed it. It tasted nearly as good as he thought it would; it was probably made of pond water and mud. 

The cold clothes against his skin were cloying and made him feel gross, so he slipped out of them. By the time he was in his boxer shorts he was on fire. His skin was burning hot, itchy and painful. He crawled forwards and dipped his hand into the salt water. The pain receded from the damp skin. He pushed himself from the rock into the water and the burning stopped. The itching, however, only got worse. 

His hands curled into fists and back into claws as he raked them up and down his legs, his chest and his arms. The itching was unbearable now, physically painful. 

Combeferre's steady hands peeled the artist's destructive hands away from the skin and help him still in an iron grip. Grantaire felt utterly betrayed by this, but he managed to hold still until he pain stopped and Combeferre's grip slackened. 

"Holy shit that hurt." He grumbled, rubbing his sore wrists. 

Combeferre smiled. "You look very different, my friend."


End file.
